


Women and Children

by rainedparade



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alien Ethnocentricism, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Psychological Warfare, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24691708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainedparade/pseuds/rainedparade
Summary: Takes place before and after Megamorphs 1:The Andalite's Gift.  Alloran and Esplin discuss differences in Yeerk and Andalite society with their usual disdain for each other and other species.  Or: wherein Alloran finds himself warming up to Arbat's philosophies over the years.
Relationships: Alloran-Semitur-Corrass/Visser Three | Esplin 9466
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9





	Women and Children

**Author's Note:**

> A new year, a new ~~Animorphs~~ Esplin/Alloran fic, hooray! \o/  
> This fic was inspired by a discussion on how alien "nurturing" species (eg, Humans, Andalites) must be to Yeerks who mate in groups of three but never actually (survive to) rear the ensuing children.

There were not many who knew him before he became the Abomination. And of those, fewer still who knew him before he'd been named the Butcher of Hork-Bajir.

Alloran had been an idealist, once upon a time. His idealism, like his kindness and chivalry, had come off in that heavy-handed and ultimately patronizing way, but it had still been there. Few remembered those times. Fewer still would dare to speak of them.

It was for the best, he knew. As soon as he had taken the Oath of the Warrior, he had sworn off youthful idealism and its ilk. When he died, whether it was as the Visser's host or a free spirit once more, his best shot at obscurity was for the Visser's own actions to be so ineffective that his identity as host would only amount to a footnote in the historical record.

*

‹Dreaming again, I see,› the Yeerk drawled as Alloran came to.

There was a fire of synapses in the bit of brain Esplin occupied; a muted attempt at small talk, perhaps. Alloran would not have entertained it in any case so the Yeerk's subsequent rifling through the pertinent sections was almost a relief.

‹A conversation with your brother,› Esplin remarked. ‹How quaint.›

Of the two of them, Arbat had been the pragmatist. While Alloran envisioned a future where battlefields might be absent altogether; Arbat was just as sure such a future would never come and certainly not within their lifetimes. His dreams had included staffing the frontlines with women and children, a concept which had horrified and disgusted Alloran.

‹Your brother would approve of these bandits then,› Esplin pressed. The Council of Thirteen had been displeased as of late, first with the slow rate of infestation and then with the destruction of the main Kandrona. Alloran hoped the rumors of his imminent demotion were true.

‹Yeerks have no interest in these distinctions,› Alloran snorted. His own response triggered a pleased flutter of nerve endings from where the slug joined his brain.

‹That is true,› Esplin conceded, ‹Genders and generations are so limiting. As is the idea of a single-digit litter.›

‹As is the concept of quality over quantity,› Alloran retorted.

‹But really, my dear War-Prince,› Esplin pressed, returning to the point at-hand while Alloran bristled at the diminutive, ‹After witnessing the site proper, even you must concede this is not the work of veterans or even properly-trained cadets.›

For the longest time, both he and Esplin had grappled with the tactical decisions of the bandits. Esplin incredulous and himself jeering. But then the Kandrona had fallen and when they -- that is, Esplin -- went over to the scene of the triumph proper, it was clear the bandits were just that: fighters who had not been trained in the arts of war. It was standard procedure, for example, for Andalite cadets in their penultimate year to learn how to dismantle one of the Kandrona machines. Even if the bandits wanted to maintain the veneer of savagery, it was dumb luck that the machinery had been damaged beyond repair by its short fall. Esplin knew of the evidence just as well as Alloran. Yet the bandits were clearly capable of morphing which only left two possibilities: they were either humans (unthinkable) or Andalites unfit for the service (unlikely but not impossible).

‹So?› Alloran asked.

Esplin chuckled; a sickening sound if there ever was one. ‹Will you not beg me for their lives? I do so love to hear humility, especially from you.›

‹No.›

‹Oh?› Esplin feigned surprise.

‹It does not matter what they were before,› Alloran insisted. ‹They are warriors now.› He gave a dark chuckle of his own. ‹Warriors that may well topple a Yeerk Visser.›

‹If only, if only,› Esplin replied, swishing his tail. ‹I've been hard at work while you've been sleeping on that note.› He waved one wrist, lifting the shutters on the viewing windows, and it was only then that Alloran realized they were no longer in low Earth orbit.

‹This is the fifth planet in the system,› Esplin said, gesturing to the gas giant of glimmering bronze.

‹Sixth.›

Esplin made a dismissive noise. ‹The first hardly qualifies as a planet. In any case, look at the lovely specimen that's been living on its rings.› He turned Alloran's stalk eyes towards the trio of monitors at the other end of the room. What appeared at first as static was in fact a living dustcloud.

The feed attached to the left monitor froze and then zoomed in. At 500x magnification Alloran could at last make out the wholly alien form of an individual sample. It looked like a miniature Gigolith with wings and longer antennae.

‹I've named it _Veleek_ ,› Esplin explained. ‹It will be most helpful in discovering who, or what, those bandits really are.›

Alloran did not need to rifle through Esplin's memories to arrive at the same conclusion for he knew what _Veleeks_ were expected to do, even if he didn't know what this particular breed was.

‹If it turns out they were are women and children,› he started as Esplin began to morph, ‹You will never hear the end of from me. The mighty Visser Three, forced to use pests from the sixth planet to rid himself of pests from the third.› Alloran gave a cruel laugh of his own. ‹The jokes write themselves, don't they? Yeerk.›

‹If you had pleaded for their lives I might have spared one,› Esplin answered. His tone was deathly calm, as it tended to be whenever he was acutely incensed, ‹But as it is, I do not think torture and eventual subsumation into Sub-Visserhood sufficient.›

For an agonizing moment, Alloran wondered if Esplin might finally choose to change bodies. It would never happen, he knew, not until his own body had sufficiently deteriorated, as there were over a dozen morphs on him whose genetic material no longer existed.

Esplin gave another cloying chuckle at Alloran's pinprick of hope. It could not be quashed quickly enough.

‹No, my dear War-Prince,› the Yeerk cooed. ‹I would never throw _you_ away. Rather...› he gestured with a Hork-Bajir's hooked talon and the _Veleek_ was led (or rather, funneled) into the room. It appeared like it had on the screen, in a blossom of dust and debris, and for a moment, Alloran's attention was monopolized by the entity's movements, so much so that he nearly missed the end of the Yeerk's threat.

‹I think I've been far too lenient where your dear wife is concerned.›

Alloran felt his blood turn to ice at the mention of Jahar. Even thinking of her now -- with the Yeerk wedged so deeply in his brain -- was anathema.

‹Oh, I won't renege on my promise,› Esplin reassured him in that gratingly sing-songy manner as he allowed the Hork-Bajir body to be encircled in ropes made of _Veleek_. ‹Rather, I was thinking how educational it might be, to breed with one of the female bandits.›

Being possessed by a Yeerk meant that Alloran's default state was one of disgust. This was multiplied fivefold by the hellish entity known as the Veleek that was currently interested in molding itself into a second skin. But neither level of disgust could hold a candle to the image that came to mind from the Visser's suggestion.

Esplin began to morph back and the shift made the _Veleek_ cling on all the tighter.

‹Will you not beg? Alloran?› Esplin asked while this near-asphyxiation was going on.

‹I will not,› Alloran answered, with the same detached calmness as Esplin had exhibited moments prior. With but a whisper of forgiveness for tarnishing her so, he brought forth his memories of Jahar. The intensity was gone, but the fervency remained.

‹Disgusting,› Esplin sneered, having relegated affection to the affectations of lesser beings.

‹Emotions have nothing to do with it, Yeerk,› Alloran retorted. ‹It is altogether a wholly biological response. You will see soon enough. The memories do not do the act justice. And then... if you find yourself overwhelmed for even an instant...› he did not need to complete his threat; they both knew which throat Alloran's blade would be aimed at if the Visser was to carry through with his own experiment.

*

*

*

The stand-off ended without a true conclusion, as all of their more heated disagreements tended. The _Veleek_ managed to capture one bandit, proving there was at least one Andalite adolescent among them, before the whole entity drowned off of the coast. The child escaped along with the warrior who had morphed into the black-furred biped (who Esplin was certain had been a woman).

The Yeerk was furious, which lightened Alloran's humors all the more. Nevermind the ultimate fate of the _Veleek_ which was brilliant in and of itself, there was the fact that these bandits -- these warriors -- would live to fight another day and someday, someday soon, Alloran hoped, they would _win_.

‹I suppose it's my loss too,› Alloran couldn't help jibing, as far away as possible from the heavy-handed patronizing persona he had been famed and feared for.

‹Is it?› Esplin all but snarled.

‹In the discussion with Arbat,› Alloran continued. He would have smiled with his eyes then, but he settled for mentally preening. ‹As you see, Yeerk, women and children can be just as deadly as the rest of us.›

‹I will kill them all,› Esplin swore, ‹And then I will feed you your dear wife and kin.›

But the Butcher of Hork-Bajir could only laugh, laugh and laugh and laugh, because -- for the first time in decades -- he had been permitted to drink from the spring of hope. And there was nothing the Visser could say or do that would diminish the water's sweetness nor change the subsequent turning of the tide.


End file.
